Summer Reading : elephants and motorcycles

I am a sucker for those "great summer reads" lists that appear in newspapers, on NPR or in magazines regularly in May or June each year. From the NPR list compiled by booksellers, I was introduced to "Water for Elephants" by Sara Gruen. I started to read it on the trip up to Door County and could scarcely put it down. It was simply one of the most enjoyable novels I'd read in a long, long time. It is set in a depression era traveling C grade circus, the likes of which come through our small town from time to time. Today they travel by RV, but the mix of sparkle and tawdry, amazing talent and freakiness was the same. The ending is wonderful but the journey there is amazing too.

Another book I picked up was "The Places in Between" by Rory Stewart, the true story of a young man's solo walk across Afghanistan right after the fall of the Taliban. I thought it would be a close-up view of what it was like to live under Russian and later Taliban rule. Well, it wasn't. It was a lot of rambling concerning ancient history in the country and a self-centered young man mooching off of impovrished people. He relied on the Afghans to guide him through the mountains in winter because he set up this self-imposed rule of not accepting rides under any circumstance. He'd endanger others in order to complete his quest. To say I found this guy annoying is an understatement. I'd hoped to learn more about the people of Afghanistan, instead I learned about Stewart's bowels and his resentment when he got a less than warm welcome along the way.

Now to my current read "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance" by Robert Pirsig. I love this book! In fact I began to love this book in the introduction. I had never had cause to pick it up before. I think because motorcycles had no interest then for me, however that has changed now that my boss and son are both riders. But the motorcycle is actually a metaphor..at least that's what I think thus far some 60 pages into the book. If you like "Illusions" by Richard Bach or have been interested at all in Zen, I'd say to check this out. The question of what is sane or what is insane in this world we live in is well worth pondering. In the early pages, the author talks about learning to maintain his own motorcycle as opposed to trusting someone else to maintain it for you. I couldn't help but think of son's recent experience with misdiagnosis at the hands of the human maintenance/repair specialists. Perhaps I am reading way too much into this! To be continued......

Door County Chronicles

My trip to Door County was quite an experience. Driving out from Green Bay, I saw cows right out of central casting munching contentedly in verdant pastures. Views of the bay were so lovely at times that it was hard to stay on the road. The resort sat up on a high bluff above the bay and my room had bay views in three directions. I could watch the sun set without leaving the room. I could also chose to sit on my balcony or on the deck on the swimming pool adjacent to my room.

The humor in psychotherapy course was a hoot as expected. The group meshed well and the ice was quickly broken with some improv warm up exercises such as "bunny, bunny, bunny" and "Kitty wants a corner". We played a lot of games and by the end of the day we knew one another's names and were comfortable with each another. In the evening a group of us went to see "Belgians in Heaven" at an amphitheatre set in a grove of hemlock trees deep inside Peninsula State Park. The musical was written by our course leaders who also had parts in the show. One originated the role of Mildred the chicken.

It was a fun evening which ended abruptly when I got a call from my better half informing me that our son was in the hospital with a blood clot in his lung. I called son who was mostly in pain but otherwise okay. He was griping a lot about the hospital's non-smoking policy. He had to wait until he received his doctor's order to smoke. That did come about much to his relief. Anyway I was in a big muddle not knowing whether to stay put or to run to my son's bedside. I decided to wait until morning and hopefully with more tests things would be clearer. Well, as day two progressed it seemed that there was less and less likelihood of a blood clot. Second and third opinions of the CT scan plus more studies did not support the original diagnosis. Finally another CT scan was done with a bigger better machine and to our great relief, no blood clot. The flank pain was attributed to pleurisy. Three days of antibiotics have since taken care of that.

In the midst of this I came down with a cold and strained one of my quads doing a silly walk during one of my improv exercises. The old bod screamed rest and recover. I headed up the coast to a spa and had a massage. The dear massage therapist worked wonders on my painful thigh. Later I took full advantage of the pool near my room. I couldn't remember the last time I'd been swimming and it felt wonderful.

My energy level was low throughout the week so I didn't much shoppping or eating out. I did take a sail out on Green Bay one afternoon which was delightful even with very little wind. I also explored Fish Creek, Ephraim and Sister Bay..towns on the road north out of Egg Harbor along the bay side of the peninsula. Zoning regulations have prevented chain stores and restaurants from invading the north part of Door County. Imagine going a week without seeing any golden arches, Starbucks or WalMart. Their absence gives the area an old fashioned quality and each community has it's own unique restaurants and stores. It is a wonderful vacation spot and I do hope to have the opportunity to go again... this time with my hubby and in better health. And I vow from henceforth to moderate my silly walk. But I did get introduced to cheese curds. I was told that the ones which squeak were best. I am happy to report that the curds I sampled did indeed squeak. Local cherries and raspberries were in season and I can vouch for the excellence of both local treats. Life is good!

Way off line

I'm off to the land of Packers, badgers and cheddar cheese in the wee hours of tomorrow. Will my group be the yoke of Egg Harbor? Time will tell. In the meantime, I will be off-line and that in itself is making me a tad anxious. The fact that I am a tad anxious is all the more reason to stay away from anything that resembles a computer. A self-imposed computer fast should be good for the soul.

Diversions

Maybe it has something to do with the relentless heat we've been experiencing, or the even more relentless media flaptrap in regards to said heat, or the heat of warfare in the middle east, but I found this picture of snake surgery just hilarious. The python apparently ingested an entire electric blanket and the control and electric cord. Maybe he just couldn't stop eating...I don't know. The python is expected to make a full recovery.

I've also been doing some research on cow tipping which I have always thought was a gag that country kids played on naive city kids. The idea is to take some gullible kid out into a cattle field at night on the pretense that you can easily tip over a sleeping bovine. Just sneak up on poor unsuspecting Bossie, give her a push and over she'll go. Nevermind that a standing cow is not a sleeping cow. There are endless possible outcomes to such a venture. A snipe hunt is another variant. This ruse takes an unsuspecting soul out into the woods at night armed with a flashlight and gunnysack. The victem of the gag is told to call out "Here snipe. Here snipe". The snipe is purportedly lured by the call and blinded by the flashlight. At which point the dazed snipe will naturally wander into the gunnysack. Meanwhile the poor victem gets left alone in the woods. Anyway, there are some folks who are trying to prove that cow tipping is scientifically possible. Such people have way too much time on their hands. However, one can now enjoy virtual cow tipping. No irate farmers, no cow patties, and no barbed wire.

Over Easy Egg Harbor

I am so ready to head off to Wisconsin this coming Sunday. Even the prospect of an early morning departure doesn't dampen my enthusiasm because that means I'll get there sooner. I know a new place never turns out as I have imagined, but I plan to have a really good time.

I will leave the computer behind. I am only taking books, my trusty iPod, playing cards, and crossword puzzles for entertainment. The resort where I will be staying is not in any way rustic, yet I intend to idle the old brain as much as possible. Watching the sun set, riding on a ferry boat, browsing in little shops, and easy walks along the shore sound absolutely perfect.

Now how this all actually transpires will be most interesting. I always meet some truly memorable people at these meetings like Diamond, the sparkling Canadian psychoanalyst with whom I rode the streetcars one spring evening in New Orleans. Or the Polish psychoanalyst who honored me with a dance accompanied by the live music of Harry Connick Sr's orchestra. Or Ernie, the bad boy rabbi from Racine WI, who carried on a running satirical commentary throughout a Bowen Family conference keynote address which left us both in stitches. It's always unusual.

There are several other workshops for headshrinkers taking place at the same time as mine. Since mine is entitled Using Humor in Psychotherapy, I expect to laugh a lot. Who knows maybe the grant writing workshop will turn out to be the fun group. In the past I have been directed to wear my professional uniform. No doubt the uniform generates instant respect. However this time,I will be incognito..looking like a pleasant gray-haired middle aged lady on vacation. The only question is whether to pack my red foam clown nose? I suppose I could wear it on the plane.

Self Esteem

It is not uncommon to hear someone say that they have low self-esteem. I don't think I have ever heard someone say they have high self-esteem. In fact, in my youth a person with "high self-esteem" might have been called too big for his britches, a bragger, stuck on himself or conceited.

I do find that many people carry around such wildly distorted images of themselves. One man, who was a successful CEO and community leader, saw himself a cheap con man...someone who had lied and cheated his way through school and life. And he had done so because in his mind, he was incapable of otherwise measuring up to his peers. His particular embarrassment was his weakness in math. One time he walked out of a job interview when he found out his math skills would be tested. Afterwards he plunged into a suicidal funk. From that point, he was afraid of looking for another job lest he had to face another math test. Math tutors were hired and fired. Math computer games were bought and discarded. His wife tried to teach him but he soon became enraged. Any effort to correct the problem only served to remind how he deficient was...actually defective was the word he used to describe himself.

One day, he happened to mention to me his experience with test anxiety during a college math course he'd taken many years before. It turns out he had to take several college math courses and with some help, he'd pulled solid a B in each. I was simply astonished. Over and over I asked, "How can you be poor in math and get a B in college algebra? How can you be bad in math and get a B in college statistics? This is college math here. College math. " I continued on this vein for quite sometime trying to blast through his long held, rock solid delusion that he was nigh on retarded when it came to doing math. He can't be defective in math and pull a B in college math. These two factors just can't co-exist. I held up a new mirror which reflects his success in college math. I have placed mine beside his old distorted "I'm defective" mirror. I don't know how long he'll need to keep gazing into that old mirror, but the good Lord willing, soon he'll be taking more and more peeks into the new one.

Peaches

What is it about food that reminds of us people? The boy in my profile picture simply adores lemons. If he sees a fresh lemon, he enthusiastically recites to anyone nearby his recipe for making fresh lemonade. I can't look at lemon without recalling his unbridled excitement at the mere thought of homemade lemonade.

Every summer, my happiness is complete when those marvelous white peaches appear in the store. In a few weeks, if we haven't had a late frost, the local peaches will be everywhere: in roadside stands, at the farmers markets and best of all at the orchards where you can buy unusual varieties which you can't find in the stores. And of course, there are fresh peach pies to enjoy as well the joy of gnoshing on a juicy peach anytime I want.

A few years ago I met a little boy who had never eaten a fresh peach. At 8 years of age, he had never once tasted one even though he lived not far from several good peach orchards. His sister had never eaten a fresh peach, neither had his Mom. One day someone brought a huge box of peaches in for my training analyst. We were all told to help ourselves. This kid took one peach, sunk his teeth into it, and it was love at first bite.

A few weeks later he came running into the building. He had a song we just had to hear. At that moment, nothing was more important than playing that song for us. He could barely contain his excitement as he slipped a cassette tape into the player. He played the peach song for us. We chuckled at the song. We chuckled over its perfect lyrics. But mostly we chuckled at the sheer delight of a little guy who had been introduced to something wonderful. I wonder if he thinks of us when he eats a peach. I suspect he does.

Regression in service to the ego

Yesterday I had a 9 year old visitor. A former patient dropped by to see me while his Mom had an appointment elsewhere in my building. When I speak of him, I often tell how it was that he was brought to see me. At three years of age, he'd been expelled from daycare. Yep. Imagine being three years old and already a spectacular failure, a colossal flop in the eyes of your Mom and Dad. I soon learned that he was a terrified kid caught in his parents' web of insanity. Fortunately he had a Gramma (God bless those Grammas) who though he was the greatest kid ever and loved him dearly. I grew to love him too.

Boy did we play hard back then! We had car races on our carefully constructed race track..always ending with spectacular crashes. We made up our own version of football complete with victory dances when we'd score a touchdown. We reminisced yesterday about our times together. He nodded solemnly saying "You did me a lot of good." Such adult words out of a little kid's mouth. He said he still had the balsa wood airplane we put together. I said I remembered the red model car he assembled. I told him I hadn't thought he was old enough to do it, but he'd proved me wrong. He grinned and repeated "Yeah, I proved you wrong." He still has that red car.

He invited me to play with the dart guns. Oh we had had some blood thirsty shoot-em-up battles in the past. We had a great one yesterday, dodging darts, sneak attacks and plenty of verbal insults volleyed at one another. As we played, I heard that Mom's latest ex-husband had been mean, but her new boyfriend was nice; that he hadn't seen his Dad for three months because Mom had a restraining order against him; that his sister was babysitting him but ignored him; and that he was having trouble making friends. I wished there had been a happy ending to his story, as it sounds as if his life is still pretty miserable. But yesterday, dang it, we had one hell of a great dart gun fight!

Links

Sometimes technology totally stymies me...haven't figured out how to add to the links on this blog's sidebar. I get to the template, but the program is not reading my changes. Anyway, I'll post some of my links here.

My oldest daughter's blog:


My favorite preacher's blog:

Nonsequitur

Doonesbury

Quiddler and other games:

For differing political views:
The Drudge Report
Huffington Post

Popping the narcissist's balloon

from Quote a Day (QAD)...
ezine@gophercentral.com

Calvin: People think it must be fun to be a super genius,
but they don't realize how hard it is to put up
with all the idiots in the world.

Hobbes: Isn't your pants' zipper supposed to be in
the front?

The Journey Begins

Thus begins the first entry to my blog where I ponder deep and not so deep thoughts about matters emotional and spiritual. Let me introduce myself to you who might wander here. I am a lay analyst in my 8th year of training who lives in a tiny town in the lower midwest...that means the locals speak with a bit of a drawl, and the cars are festooned with magnetic ribbons in support of our troops. I'm not sure we are the geographic center of the Bible belt, but we might as well be.

I work with those who are wounded in body and soul. I am in private practice with two clinical psychologists and one educational psychologist. As a lay analyst in training, I am being hand trained by a psychodynamic clinical psychologist/hypno-analyst which might mean something to someone out there. My patients just hope I can help them. And I look for unconscious roots of behavior rather than just treating the symptom. However, some people just want symptom relief and no more. I like to understand the "why". That's where the action is and keeps me delving until I get some answers.

I work with kids and adults, individuals and couples, neurotics and psychotics, married and single, those with advanced degrees and those with GEDs, and from all walks of life. And they teach me so much, so very much about what it means to be human and the great resiliency of the soul especially when linked with the Divine.

I have three kids, all launched into adulthood and gainfully employed. Son lives in our town, daughter #1 lives in California and daughter #2 lives in New York. My husband is a card carrying member of the NRA and has served his community as a physician for 30 years. I laugh because I listen to All Things Considered as I fix dinner while he watches Fox News in the next room. It requires tact and patience to keep this group together..but mostly love, and that abounds.

Welcome to my blog and please do introduce yourself.